The Mountain

i have that pin you gave me when I saved

your life. it fell off the other day and I found

it under my bed. not really poetic. but

without it i feel naked. you came to me

when the day became the night at that

perfect sunset moment when the world

around me stops and I stare up

to forget the pounding of keys

and my heart.

i do not try to get on top of you,

you have a way of getting there first.

your wicked ways of wanting

your charming chase of chanting’

i got an A in literature and never

went to claim my award. no

university mattered as much

as the one you never went to.

i wanted to continue the idealistic

dream but money took over the

desire. as it always does, and i

still rock myself to waking up.

to sleeping. boxes of wine bottles

on kitchen floors. none of my

words reach you though

up in your empire of broken

dreams. you visit less and less

and forgot the melodramatic

way i enhance all the nails

on the wall. stop piercing me.

you struck me too far. no

distance is far enough. no

steps slow enough. you will

catch me one day when i

least expect it. as it should be.

no expectations or careless

imaginations. greeks crashing

the markets and democracy

the epic revolution. it’s in our

blood to see further. despise

the enemy, with empty pockets

and ghosts of the army past.

no one ever forgets history.

i’m going to the mountain,

because that is what we

call Mont-Royal, there’s

a word for all the insiders

that the outsiders claw at.

a few speak them.

a few know that guitar riff.

but most doubt their own

heritage. or wave it off.

check your veins.

you’re alive.

hell is near.

Full Bloom

Crumpled up two pages

a rarity in my hands

most times I do not come up for air

as long as it takes a song

to start and end

as long as I make this pen bend

to my right and wrong.

I can detox my body

add ginger to my green tea

bring back my mind

with Rumi, silence and obscure poets I find.

I can revive my soul

writing until my notebooks are full

and the cardboard back cover will do

any blank space filled through and through

page after page of nonsense, raging like a bull

(you can come in and out of my room

I won’t see you, I’m in full bloom)

creating an inner world

with hotel rooms on fire

sex acts, food, conversation, attire

vivid characters’ desire

as she spreads her legs

feeds her need

with his vibrant seed.

I know the joke’s on me

of how could she write

such pornography?

Erotica from the Greek eros, I recount

and my real name

my real picture

forget it, it’s a bloody game

deconstruct me

the nature of literature


carpe diem

in vino veritas

deux ex machina

professors’ voices reminding me

of tragedies, endings, motivations

mere words

to stop the critics, the academia, the vultures

the turds

you know who you are

and you might think you’re a star

but no one here gets out alive

and if you haven’t heard Jim say

it then get back to the past

listen without judging

take that fucking dive. 

Tell him a tale

wipe a tear

off I sail

do not leave any tracks

hard to tell the lies from the facts.

All I know is that I’m in full bloom.